Chapter 12 #2
KAT: That’s a hard question. There are a lot of pieces I’m proud of for different reasons.
But probably my first paid commission. I really wanted to use watercolors for it, which I wasn’t as familiar with at the time.
It was for a children’s book about a fox who goes on adventures.
I worked so hard on it, spent weeks getting the style right, the colors perfect.
And it turned out amazingly, exactly how I’d envisioned it in my head.
KAT: The book didn’t end up getting published, which was a huge bummer. The publishing house went under before it could go to print. But I’m still really proud of the work itself. It proved to me that I could do this professionally, that I wasn’t just fooling myself about having talent.
ME: It sounds amazing. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry the book didn’t get published. That must have been disappointing.
KAT: It was. But that’s the industry sometimes. You can do everything right and still not get the outcome you wanted.
ME: What’s your favorite medium to work in? You mentioned watercolors, but what do you usually use?
KAT: It depends on the project and my mood.
Usually I’m a pen and ink kind of girl. I love the precision of it, the way you can create so much depth with just black lines.
But I like to mix it up too, experiment with new things.
Watercolors, colored pencils, digital art.
It keeps the work from getting stale, keeps me from getting bored.
I’m impressed by that. By her willingness to keep pushing herself, to try new things even when they’re outside her comfort zone. A lot of people find something that works and stick with it forever, but she’s clearly not content with staying in one place.
ME: That takes guts. Trying new techniques when you’ve already got something that works.
KAT: Or it’s just restlessness. I’ve never been great at staying still, even with my art. I always want to see what’s around the next corner.
I turn off the light and settle into bed, pulling the covers up and arranging the pillows the way I like them.
Across the way, Kat does the same. Her room goes dark, and I can barely see into it anymore, but she left the curtains open.
I watch as she climbs into bed, her silhouette visible against the faint light from the hallway.
The sight hits me harder than it should. There’s something about watching her get into bed, knowing she’s settling in for the night just like I am, that feels too intimate for whatever this arrangement is supposed to be.
ME: So you’ve got “get a tree” checked off the holiday list. What else do you have planned while you’re back in town?
KAT: The usual family stuff. Holiday parties, Christmas shopping, a few more dinners and stuff with my parents. You’ll probably get conscripted to join for some of that if you’re okay with it.
ME: Yeah, of course.
KAT: Thanks. Oh, and I HAVE to go to Li’l Dippers while I’m in town. That’s non-negotiable.
ME: What on earth is Li’l Dippers?
KAT: It’s this diner downtown that’s been there since the 1950s or something. They have the most amazing grilled cheese you’ve ever had in your life. It’s practically a religious experience.
ME: That’s a bold claim. What constitutes an amazing grilled cheese in your mind?
That question launches us into a debate about kind of bread and cheese and cooking techniques make the best grilled cheese.
I take the side of keeping it simple with white bread, American cheese, and some butter, while Kat argues that you can’t make an amazing grilled cheese sandwich without a crusty, hearty bread that can really stand up to the cheese, and real cheese in the middle.
At one point, she sends me a link to an article about the “best grilled cheese recipes” that she clearly just Googled to prove her point. I send her a gif of someone making a sandwich with American cheese.
It’s stupid and fun and makes me grin like an idiot in the darkness.
After we finally declare a truce on the great grilled cheese debate, we move on to other topics. She tells me a few stories about growing up in Maplewood, the kind of details that paint a picture of her childhood.
It definitely sounds like she and her friend Sam were joined at the hip growing up.
She describes how they used to go to the local movie theatre to see back to back movies on the weekends, and how they’d coordinate their Halloween costumes every year.
Salt and pepper shakers when they were eight, peanut butter and jelly when they were ten, and Mario and Luigi when they were eleven, which required Sam to draw a fake mustache on with eyeliner.
KAT: We were so proud of those costumes every year, convinced we were creative geniuses. Looking back at the photos, we looked so ridiculous.
ME: I bet you were a cute Mario.
KAT: I was eleven and going through an unfortunate phase where I refused to brush my hair. So no, definitely not cute. More like feral.
ME: Feral can be cute.
KAT: You’re basing that on exactly zero evidence.
ME: Eh, call it intuition.
She tells me that she and Sam got their driver’s licenses in the same week, since their birthdays are only three days apart, and I tell her about my first fight on the ice when I was seventeen. How the other guy was talking shit about my mom during warm-ups, and I completely lost it.
KAT: Did you win?
ME: Define win. I didn’t get my ass kicked, which felt like a victory at the time.
KAT: That’s the spirit. Set the bar low and exceed expectations.
ME: Words to live by.
The conversation keeps going, always just one more thing to say, one more question to ask.
I fight back a yawn as I chuckle at something she wrote in her latest text, my eyes burning slightly from staring at my screen for so long in the dark.
After several hours, her responses start coming slower.
Thirty seconds between messages instead of five. Then a full minute. Then two minutes.
ME: You still awake over there?
No response.
I wait another few minutes, watching my phone screen. Nothing.
Finally, I glance over at the cabin. Her room is completely dark now, and I can’t see any movement. She must’ve fallen asleep mid-conversation with her phone still clutched in her hand.
The thought makes me smile in the darkness of my room.
I’m surprisingly disappointed that she’s asleep, and I find myself already looking forward to seeing her in the morning.
To watching her stumble into the kitchen half-awake, probably with that messy hair she was complaining about, reaching for coffee like it’s a lifeline.
ME: Goodnight, bright eyes. Sleep tight.
I plug my phone in to charge and then set it on the nightstand and roll onto my side, punching the pillow into a more comfortable shape. Through the window, I can still see the dark outline of the main cabin against the night sky.
What I texted her earlier wasn’t a lie.
I do feel less lonely knowing she’s just across the yard.